


Priceless

by phantomunmasked



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:01:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Andrea being shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Priceless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayryn/gifts).



Fifteen thousand. 

Fifteen. 

(How much had they paid for his death? Surely he had been worth more than her?)

Andrea gripped the mug in her hands a little harder, tried to ignore the tiny tremors that shook her. At least no one was witnessing her little breakdown. She inhaled deeply, tried to steel herself, tried to rein in her racing thoughts. Los Angeles’ skyline glittered innocently at her in the distant dark, and she stared blindly at it. The day had passed in a blur, and she had brushed off platitudes of concern time after time, refused to think about her own mortality until she was alone. 

(It was all about mental discipline, he had always said to her, with a tired smile after a trying case. It was all about control.)

The coffee was cold and bitter on her tongue, but she clung to its taste like a lifeline, closed her eyes and braced herself against the onslaught of images. A body, so tall and noble in life, broken and ugly in death. They had carved their message into his chest, taken his face from him with a shotgun. She shivered, hastily placing the mug on the windowsill.

They had tortured him, the coroners had said, kept him alive as they etched their vengeance in neat letters across his skin. Death was a welcome thing for him by the time it came, they said; in the end, the cartel had been merciful enough to grant him a quick death. He would have bled out otherwise, they said. She didn’t say anything, only nodded numbly as she took in the broken body before her. 

The bright lights of the city blurred into indeterminate smudges of white, and with a bitter huff of laughter she raised a hand to her tears. She picked up her mug again, tried once more to force herself to stop shivering. How fitting that it had been another cartel that had tried to kill her. 

(Like father, like daughter, everyone had said, and she had been so proud, so proud to have brought him honour. For it was he that she had wanted to please; Harvard’s law school had seemed the only logical solution)

The steady drumbeat of another woman’s shoes broke her reverie, and she drew in another shaky breath, blinked and stood taller, winced as her stitches pulled. It would not do for anyone to see her like this. 

(Never let them see you sweat, kiddo. A smile, and an affectionate wink.) 

“Oh. DDA Hobbs.” 

She didn’t turn, not immediately. The captain had been friendly enough to her; that she had taken down the man who shot her seemed to warrant some form of gratitude, on her part. She closed her eyes, exhaled, pulled herself together. 

“Captain Raydor.” 

Andrea set down her mug, turned to face the woman that had reclaimed the requisite pound of flesh for her. She smiled, tremulously, and tried to meet the older woman’s eyes. 

“Are you alright?” 

Andrea lifted her uninjured shoulder in a half shrug, suddenly too tired for any pretence. 

“They tell me I’ll live.” 

The captain said nothing, only gazed at her with steady eyes and a tilted head. Andrea sighed, looked at her shoes. The silence between them stretched, not uncomfortably. 

“Captain. I… I meant to thank you, earlier.” 

Andrea wound her hands together, focused on the floor by her shoes. 

(There hadn’t been anyone like the captain then. Not for him. No one had sought vengeance for him; they’d forgotten him easily enough, just another nameless face lost to the pursuit of justice)

“You’re welcome.”

The captain’s level voice reverberated with sincerity, and Andrea nodded, did not look up. A few more moments passed, and still the captain made no move, simply stood in silence. 

“Did you need something, Captain?” 

There was a quaver in her voice, and Andrea bit her lip, turned back towards the window. 

“No, no, not really. I only came back here because I needed to get away from… things.” 

The unspoken identity of the captain’s frustration drew a snort of laughter from Andrea, and she nodded in silent agreement. She could only imagine the amount trouble Chief Johnson regularly caused for the captain. 

A gentle touch to her back made her flinch, and she turned, too quickly. Hissing in pain, sank to the floor, clutched gingerly at her injured arm. 

“Oh my god. Andrea! I’m so sorry – are you alright?”

Andrea said nothing for a moment, too intent on willing the pain away. 

(Try counting to ten in German, kiddo. Put those lessons to good use.)

Andrea closed her eyes and counted, silently, in German and in French. Little by little the pain ebbed away, and she exhaled, let her head thud against the wall behind her. 

“Andrea?” 

She opened her eyes to see the captain knelt before her, brow furrowed in concern. 

“I’m alright,” she managed to mutter, placing her hands in her lap. 

To her great surprise the captain reached out and took Andrea’s hands in her own. If she noticed how badly Andrea was shaking, she said nothing, only squeezed slightly. Andrea raised an expectant eyebrow at her companion, and the captain merely smiled in response, moving to sit next to her. 

“You nearly died today, Andrea.” 

The captain’s voice shook slightly, and Andrea turned to look at her. 

“Captain?”

Whatever Andrea had been expecting, it hadn’t been to see the captain quite so concerned. 

“You nearly died, Andrea. You’re allowed to be not alright.” 

Somehow, those words sounded like absolution to Andrea, and she found herself clinging to them, took them as permission to speak her mind. 

“I know I’m allowed… I just… don’t know how not to be alright.” 

Her confession was mumbled, and Andrea could not face the woman beside her, could not take in the compassion that softened those green eyes. 

“Why don’t we start with what’s bothering you?” 

There was that same gentleness once more. Andrea said nothing for a moment, plucked at the crease on her trouser leg with her left hand. 

“It’s the fifteen thousand dollars,” she began, when she finally found it in herself to speak. The captain said nothing, encouraged her with a hum of acknowledgement. A deep breath, and Andrea continued, tried in vain to push the ghost of her father from her mind. 

“It… it reminded me of my father, and how he died. It made me wonder how much he had been worth. It made me wonder… if I was worth that fifteen thousand.” 

“Oh, Andrea.” 

A warm hand grasped hers, and Andrea shivered, let the tears come once more. She knew it seemed a trivial thing to be concerned about; but the captain had offered to shrive her, and there was comfort in that. 

“It’s a stupid thing to think about,” she offered, self-consciously. 

“Andrea,” the captain’s voice was low, strangely urgent. Warm fingers came to rest on her cheek, turned her gently to face her confessor. 

Green eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and Andrea swallowed, tried to offer a tremulous smile. 

“You are worth so much more. So much more than that, Andrea. Every life is precious. You are _priceless_ , Andrea.”

The captain brushed a thumb across her cheek, swept a lone teardrop away. 

“Never forget that.” 

Andrea broke, then, tears falling unchecked as she cried in earnest. She turned, buried her face in the crook of the older woman’s neck, sought refuge in the warmth of another living body. The captain let her cry, threaded sure fingers through her hair as she held Andrea to her; murmured Andrea’s name and “priceless, priceless” as fervently as a prayer; quantified Andrea’s infinite worth with the comfort of her touch. 

(She remembered clinging to him, the day her mother had died. She had only been twelve, and he held her with a fierce protectiveness that seemed to shut out the world. She felt safe enough to cry, then, and eventually, together, they built themselves a life without her.)

The office was silent about them when Andrea finally shuddered to a stop. She pressed her forehead to her companion’s shoulder, not quite able to face the captain. 

“Better?” 

Andrea merely nodded. Careful fingers brushed away the tearstains on her face, and a warm kiss pressed to her crown. 

“Will I ever be alright?”

She whispered her question, feared the answer. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she closed her eyes again, breathed in the soothing essence of the woman that held her. 

“Yes, Andrea,” the voice that had shriven her delivered her now, brimmed with promise and comfort and affection. 

“You’re going to be just fine.”


End file.
